\chapter[Book 6][Book 6]{Book 6}
\markright{PLATO'S REPUBLIC}

%Socrates - GLAUCON 

And thus, Glaucon, after the argument has gone a weary way, the true
and the false philosophers have at length appeared in view.

I do not think, he said, that the way could have been shortened.

I suppose not, I said; and yet I believe that we might have had a
better view of both of them if the discussion could have been confined
to this one subject and if there were not many other questions awaiting
us, which he who desires to see in what respect the life of the just
differs from that of the unjust must consider. 

And what is the next question? he asked.
 
Surely, I said, the one which follows next in order. Inasmuch as philosophers
only are able to grasp the eternal and unchangeable, and those who
wander in the region of the many and variable are not philosophers,
I must ask you which of the two classes should be the rulers of our
State? 

And how can we rightly answer that question? 

Whichever of the two are best able to guard the laws and institutions
of our State---let them be our guardians. 

Very good. 

Neither, I said, can there be any question that the guardian who is
to keep anything should have eyes rather than no eyes? 

There can be no question of that. 

And are not those who are verily and indeed wanting in the knowledge
of the true being of each thing, and who have in their souls no clear
pattern, and are unable as with a painter's eye to look at the absolute
truth and to that original to repair, and having perfect vision of
the other world to order the laws about beauty, goodness, justice
in this, if not already ordered, and to guard and preserve the order
of them---are not such persons, I ask, simply blind? 

Truly, he replied, they are much in that condition. 

And shall they be our guardians when there are others who, besides
being their equals in experience and falling short of them in no particular
of virtue, also know the very truth of each thing? 

There can be no reason, he said, for rejecting those who have this
greatest of all great qualities; they must always have the first place
unless they fail in some other respect. 

Suppose then, I said, that we determine how far they can unite this
and the other excellences. 

By all means. 

In the first place, as we began by observing, the nature of the philosopher
has to be ascertained. We must come to an understanding about him,
and, when we have done so, then, if I am not mistaken, we shall also
acknowledge that such an union of qualities is possible, and that
those in whom they are united, and those only, should be rulers in
the State. 

What do you mean? 

Let us suppose that philosophical minds always love knowledge of a
sort which shows them the eternal nature not varying from generation
and corruption. 

Agreed. 

And further, I said, let us agree that they are lovers of all true
being; there is no part whether greater or less, or more or less honorable,
which they are willing to renounce; as we said before of the lover
and the man of ambition. 

True. 

And if they are to be what we were describing, is there not another
quality which they should also possess? 

What quality? 

Truthfulness: they will never intentionally receive into their mind
falsehood, which is their detestation, and they will love the truth.

Yes, that may be safely affirmed of them. 

``May be,'' my friend, I replied, is not the word; say rather, ``must
be affirmed:'' for he whose nature is amorous of anything can not help
loving all that belongs or is akin to the object of his affections.

Right, he said.
 
And is there anything more akin to wisdom than truth? 

How can there be? 

Can the same nature be a lover of wisdom and a lover of falsehood?

Never. 

The true lover of learning then must from his earliest youth, as far
as in him lies, desire all truth? 

Assuredly. 

But then again, as we know by experience, he whose desires are strong
in one direction will have them weaker in others; they will be like
a stream which has been drawn off into another channel. 

True. 

He whose desires are drawn towards knowledge in every form will be
absorbed in the pleasures of the soul, and will hardly feel bodily
pleasure---I mean, if he be a true philosopher and not a sham one.

That is most certain.
 
Such an one is sure to be temperate and the reverse of covetous; for
the motives which make another man desirous of having and spending,
have no place in his character. 

Very true. 

Another criterion of the philosophical nature has also to be considered.

What is that? 

There should be no secret corner of illiberality; nothing can be more
antagonistic than meanness to a soul which is ever longing after the
whole of things both divine and human. 

Most true, he replied. 

Then how can he who has magnificence of mind and is the spectator
of all time and all existence, think much of human life?

He can not. 

Or can such an one account death fearful? 

No indeed. 

Then the cowardly and mean nature has no part in true philosophy?

Certainly not. 

Or again: can he who is harmoniously constituted, who is not covetous
or mean, or a boaster, or a coward---can he, I say, ever be unjust or
hard in his dealings? 

Impossible. 

Then you will soon observe whether a man is just and gentle, or rude
and unsociable; these are the signs which distinguish even in youth
the philosophical nature from the unphilosophical. 

True. 

There is another point which should be remarked. 

What point? 

Whether he has or has not a pleasure in learning; for no one will
love that which gives him pain, and in which after much toil he makes
little progress. 

Certainly not. 

And again, if he is forgetful and retains nothing of what he learns,
will he not be an empty vessel? 

That is certain. 

Laboring in vain, he must end in hating himself and his fruitless
occupation?

Yes. 

Then a soul which forgets can not be ranked among genuine philosophic
natures; we must insist that the philosopher should have a good memory?

Certainly. 

And once more, the inharmonious and unseemly nature can only tend
to disproportion? 

Undoubtedly. 

And do you consider truth to be akin to proportion or to disproportion?

To proportion. 

Then, besides other qualities, we must try to find a naturally well-proportioned
and gracious mind, which will move spontaneously towards the true
being of everything. 

Certainly. 

Well, and do not all these qualities, which we have been enumerating,
go together, and are they not, in a manner, necessary to a soul, which
is to have a full and perfect participation of being? 

They are absolutely necessary, he replied. 

And must not that be a blameless study which he only can pursue who
has the gift of a good memory, and is quick to learn,---noble, gracious,
the friend of truth, justice, courage, temperance, who are his kindred?

The god of jealousy himself, he said, could find no fault with such
a study. 

And to men like him, I said, when perfected by years and education,
and to these only you will entrust the State. 

%Socrates - ADEIMANTUS 

Here Adeimantus interposed and said: To these statements, Socrates,
no one can offer a reply; but when you talk in this way, a strange
feeling passes over the minds of your hearers: They fancy that they
are led astray a little at each step in the argument, owing to their
own want of skill in asking and answering questions; these littles
accumulate, and at the end of the discussion they are found to have
sustained a mighty overthrow and all their former notions appear to
be turned upside down. And as unskilful players of draughts are at
last shut up by their more skilful adversaries and have no piece to
move, so they too find themselves shut up at last; for they have nothing
to say in this new game of which words are the counters; and yet all
the time they are in the right. The observation is suggested to me
by what is now occurring. For any one of us might say, that although
in words he is not able to meet you at each step of the argument,
he sees as a fact that the votaries of philosophy, when they carry
on the study, not only in youth as a part of education, but as the
pursuit of their maturer years, most of them become strange monsters,
not to say utter rogues, and that those who may be considered the
best of them are made useless to the world by the very study which
you extol. 

Well, and do you think that those who say so are wrong? 

I can not tell, he replied; but I should like to know what is your
opinion. 

Hear my answer; I am of opinion that they are quite right.

Then how can you be justified in saying that cities will not cease
from evil until philosophers rule in them, when philosophers are
acknowledged by us to be of no use to them? 

You ask a question, I said, to which a reply can only be given in
a parable. 

Yes, Socrates; and that is a way of speaking to which you are not
at all accustomed, I suppose. 

I perceive, I said, that you are vastly amused at having plunged me
into such a hopeless discussion; but now hear the parable, and then
you will be still more amused at the meagreness of my imagination:
for the manner in which the best men are treated in their own States
is so grievous that no single thing on earth is comparable to it;
and therefore, if I am to plead their cause, I must have recourse
to fiction, and put together a figure made up of many things, like
the fabulous unions of goats and stags which are found in pictures.
Imagine then a fleet or a ship in which there is a captain who is
taller and stronger than any of the crew, but he is a little deaf
and has a similar infirmity in sight, and his knowledge of navigation
is not much better. The sailors are quarrelling with one another about
the steering---every one is of opinion that he has a right to steer,
though he has never learned the art of navigation and can not tell
who taught him or when he learned, and will further assert that it
can not be taught, and they are ready to cut in pieces any one who
says the contrary. They throng about the captain, begging and praying
him to commit the helm to them; and if at any time they do not prevail,
but others are preferred to them, they kill the others or throw them
overboard, and having first chained up the noble captain's senses
with drink or some narcotic drug, they mutiny and take possession
of the ship and make free with the stores; thus, eating and drinking,
they proceed on their voyage in such a manner as might be expected
of them. Him who is their partisan and cleverly aids them in their
plot for getting the ship out of the captain's hands into their own
whether by force or persuasion, they compliment with the name of sailor,
pilot, able seaman, and abuse the other sort of man, whom they call
a good-for-nothing; but that the true pilot must pay attention to
the year and seasons and sky and stars and winds, and whatever else
belongs to his art, if he intends to be really qualified for the command
of a ship, and that he must and will be the steerer, whether other
people like or not---the possibility of this union of authority with
the steerer's art has never seriously entered into their thoughts
or been made part of their calling. Now in vessels which are in a
state of mutiny and by sailors who are mutineers, how will the true
pilot be regarded? Will he not be called by them a prater, a star-gazer,
a good-for-nothing? 

Of course, said Adeimantus. 

Then you will hardly need, I said, to hear the interpretation of the
figure, which describes the true philosopher in his relation to the
State; for you understand already. 

Certainly. 

Then suppose you now take this parable to the gentleman who is surprised
at finding that philosophers have no honor in their cities; explain
it to him and try to convince him that their having honor would be
far more extraordinary. 

I will. 

Say to him, that, in deeming the best votaries of philosophy to be
useless to the rest of the world, he is right; but also tell him to
attribute their uselessness to the fault of those who will not use
them, and not to themselves. The pilot should not humbly beg the sailors
to be commanded by him---that is not the order of nature; neither
are ``the wise to go to the doors of the rich''---the ingenious author
of this saying told a lie---but the truth is, that, when a man is
ill, whether he be rich or poor, to the physician he must go, and
he who wants to be governed, to him who is able to govern. The ruler
who is good for anything ought not to beg his subjects to be ruled
by him; although the present governors of mankind are of a different
stamp; they may be justly compared to the mutinous sailors, and the
true helmsmen to those who are called by them good-for-nothings and
star-gazers. 

Precisely so, he said. 

For these reasons, and among men like these, philosophy, the noblest
pursuit of all, is not likely to be much esteemed by those of the
opposite faction; not that the greatest and most lasting injury is
done to her by her opponents, but by her own professing followers,
the same of whom you suppose the accuser to say, that the greater
number of them are arrant rogues, and the best are useless; in which
opinion I agreed. 

Yes. 

And the reason why the good are useless has now been explained?

True. 

Then shall we proceed to show that the corruption of the majority
is also unavoidable, and that this is not to be laid to the charge
of philosophy any more than the other? 

By all means. 

And let us ask and answer in turn, first going back to the description
of the gentle and noble nature. Truth, as you will remember, was his
leader, whom he followed always and in all things; failing in this,
he was an impostor, and had no part or lot in true philosophy.

Yes, that was said. 

Well, and is not this one quality, to mention no others, greatly at
variance with present notions of him? 

Certainly, he said. 

And have we not a right to say in his defence, that the true lover
of knowledge is always striving after being---that is his nature;
he will not rest in the multiplicity of individuals which is an appearance
only, but will go on---the keen edge will not be blunted, nor the
force of his desire abate until he have attained the knowledge of
the true nature of every essence by a sympathetic and kindred power
in the soul, and by that power drawing near and mingling and becoming
incorporate with very being, having begotten mind and truth, he will
have knowledge and will live and grow truly, and then, and not till
then, will he cease from his travail. 

Nothing, he said, can be more just than such a description of him.

And will the love of a lie be any part of a philosopher's nature?
Will he not utterly hate a lie? 

He will. 

And when truth is the captain, we can not suspect any evil of the band
which he leads? 

Impossible. 

Justice and health of mind will be of the company, and temperance
will follow after? 

True, he replied. 

Neither is there any reason why I should again set in array the philosopher's
virtues, as you will doubtless remember that courage, magnificence,
apprehension, memory, were his natural gifts. And you objected that,
although no one could deny what I then said, still, if you leave words
and look at facts, the persons who are thus described are some of
them manifestly useless, and the greater number utterly depraved;
we were then led to inquire into the grounds of these accusations,
and have now arrived at the point of asking why are the majority bad,
which question of necessity brought us back to the examination and
definition of the true philosopher. 

Exactly. 

And we have next to consider the corruptions of the philosophic nature, why so
many are spoiled and so few escape spoiling---I am speaking of those
who were said to be useless but not wicked---and, when we have done
with them, we will speak of the imitators of philosophy, what manner
of men are they who aspire after a profession which is above them
and of which they are unworthy, and then, by their manifold inconsistencies,
bring upon philosophy, and upon all philosophers, that universal reprobation
of which we speak. 

What are these corruptions? he said. 

I will see if I can explain them to you. Every one will admit that
a nature having in perfection all the qualities which we required
in a philosopher, is a rare plant which is seldom seen among men.

Rare indeed. 

And what numberless and powerful causes tend to destroy these rare
natures! 

What causes? 

In the first place there are their own virtues, their courage, temperance,
and the rest of them, every one of which praiseworthy qualities (and
this is a most singular circumstance) destroys and distracts from
philosophy the soul which is the possessor of them. 

That is very singular, he replied. 

Then there are all the ordinary goods of life---beauty, wealth, strength,
rank, and great connections in the State---you understand the sort
of things---these also have a corrupting and distracting effect.

I understand; but I should like to know more precisely what you mean
about them. 

Grasp the truth as a whole, I said, and in the right way; you will
then have no difficulty in apprehending the preceding remarks, and
they will no longer appear strange to you. 

And how am I to do so? he asked. 

Why, I said, we know that all germs or seeds, whether vegetable or
animal, when they fail to meet with proper nutriment or climate or
soil, in proportion to their vigor, are all the more sensitive to
the want of a suitable environment, for evil is a greater enemy to
what is good than to what is not. 

Very true. 

There is reason in supposing that the finest natures, when under alien
conditions, receive more injury than the inferior, because the contrast
is greater. 

Certainly. 

And may we not say, Adeimantus, that the most gifted minds, when they
are ill-educated, become preeminently bad? Do not great crimes and
the spirit of pure evil spring out of a fulness of nature ruined by
education rather than from any inferiority, whereas weak natures are
scarcely capable of any very great good or very great evil?

There I think that you are right.
 
And our philosopher follows the same analogy---he is like a plant which,
having proper nurture, must necessarily grow and mature into all virtue,
but, if sown and planted in an alien soil, becomes the most noxious
of all weeds, unless he be preserved by some divine power. Do you
really think, as people so often say, that our youth are corrupted
by Sophists, or that private teachers of the art corrupt them in any
degree worth speaking of? Are not the public who say these things
the greatest of all Sophists? And do they not educate to perfection
young and old, men and women alike, and fashion them after their own
hearts? 

When is this accomplished? he said. 

When they meet together, and the world sits down at an assembly, or
in a court of law, or a theatre, or a camp, or in any other popular
resort, and there is a great uproar, and they praise some things which
are being said or done, and blame other things, equally exaggerating
both, shouting and clapping their hands, and the echo of the rocks
and the place in which they are assembled redoubles the sound of the
praise or blame---at such a time will not a young man's heart, as
they say, leap within him? Will any private training enable him to
stand firm against the overwhelming flood of popular opinion? or will
he be carried away by the stream? Will he not have the notions of
good and evil which the public in general have---he will do as they
do, and as they are, such will he be? 

Yes, Socrates; necessity will compel him. 

And yet, I said, there is a still greater necessity, which has not
been mentioned. 

What is that? 

The gentle force of attainder or confiscation or death, which, as you
are aware, these new Sophists and educators, who are the public, apply
when their words are powerless. 

Indeed they do; and in right good earnest. 

Now what opinion of any other Sophist, or of any private person, can
be expected to overcome in such an unequal contest? 

None, he replied. 

No, indeed, I said, even to make the attempt is a great piece of folly;
there neither is, nor has been, nor is ever likely to be, any different
type of character which has had no other training in virtue but that
which is supplied by public opinion---I speak, my friend, of human
virtue only; what is more than human, as the proverb says, is not
included: for I would not have you ignorant that, in the present evil
state of governments, whatever is saved and comes to good is saved
by the power of God, as we may truly say. 

I quite assent, he replied. 

Then let me crave your assent also to a further observation.

What are you going to say? 

Why, that all those mercenary individuals, whom the many call Sophists
and whom they deem to be their adversaries, do, in fact, teach nothing
but the opinion of the many, that is to say, the opinions of their
assemblies; and this is their wisdom. I might compare them to a man
who should study the tempers and desires of a mighty strong beast
who is fed by him---he would learn how to approach and handle him, also
at what times and from what causes he is dangerous or the reverse,
and what is the meaning of his several cries, and by what sounds,
when another utters them, he is soothed or infuriated; and you may
suppose further, that when, by continually attending upon him, he
has become perfect in all this, he calls his knowledge wisdom, and
makes of it a system or art, which he proceeds to teach, although
he has no real notion of what he means by the principles or passions
of which he is speaking, but calls this honorable and that dishonorable,
or good or evil, or just or unjust, all in accordance with the tastes
and tempers of the great brute. Good he pronounces to be that in which
the beast delights and evil to be that which he dislikes; and he can
give no other account of them except that the just and noble are the
necessary, having never himself seen, and having no power of explaining
to others the nature of either, or the difference between them, which
is immense. By heaven, would not such an one be a rare educator?

Indeed he would. 

//\\

And in what way does he who thinks that wisdom is the discernment
of the tempers and tastes of the motley multitude, whether in painting
or music, or, finally, in politics, differ from him whom I have been
describing? For when a man consorts with the many, and exhibits to
them his poem or other work of art or the service which he has done
the State, making them his judges when he is not obliged, the so-called
necessity of Diomede will oblige him to produce whatever they praise.
And yet the reasons are utterly ludicrous which they give in confirmation
of their own notions about the honorable and good. Did you ever hear
any of them which were not? 

No, nor am I likely to hear.
 
You recognize the truth of what I have been saying? Then let me ask
you to consider further whether the world will ever be induced to
believe in the existence of absolute beauty rather than of the many
beautiful, or of the absolute in each kind rather than of the many
in each kind? 

Certainly not. 

Then the world cannot possibly be a philosopher? 

Impossible. 

And therefore philosophers must inevitably fall under the censure
of the world? 

They must. 

And of individuals who consort with the mob and seek to please them?

That is evident.
 
Then, do you see any way in which the philosopher can be preserved
in his calling to the end? and remember what we were saying of him,
that he was to have quickness and memory and courage and magnificence
---these were admitted by us to be the true philosopher's gifts.

Yes. 

Will not such an one from his early childhood be in all things first
among all, especially if his bodily endowments are like his mental
ones? 

Certainly, he said. 

And his friends and fellow-citizens will want to use him as he gets
older for their own purposes? 

No question. 

Falling at his feet, they will make requests to him and do him honor
and flatter him, because they want to get into their hands now, the
power which he will one day possess. 

That often happens, he said. 

And what will a man such as he be likely to do under such circumstances,
especially if he be a citizen of a great city, rich and noble, and
a tall proper youth? Will he not be full of boundless aspirations,
and fancy himself able to manage the affairs of Hellenes and of barbarians,
and having got such notions into his head will he not dilate and elevate
himself in the fulness of vain pomp and senseless pride?

To be sure he will. 

Now, when he is in this state of mind, if some one gently comes to
him and tells him that he is a fool and must get understanding, which
can only be got by slaving for it, do you think that, under such adverse
circumstances, he will be easily induced to listen? 

Far otherwise. 

And even if there be some one who through inherent goodness or natural
reasonableness has had his eyes opened a little and is humbled and
taken captive by philosophy, how will his friends behave when they
think that they are likely to lose the advantage which they were hoping
to reap from his companionship? Will they not do and say anything
to prevent him from yielding to his better nature and to render his
teacher powerless, using to this end private intrigues as well as
public prosecutions? 

There can be no doubt of it. 

And how can one who is thus circumstanced ever become a philosopher?

Impossible. 

Then were we not right in saying that even the very qualities which
make a man a philosopher may, if he be ill-educated, divert him from
philosophy, no less than riches and their accompaniments and the other
so-called goods of life? 

We were quite right.
 
Thus, my excellent friend, is brought about all that ruin and failure
which I have been describing of the natures best adapted to the best
of all pursuits; they are natures which we maintain to be rare at
any time; this being the class out of which come the men who are the
authors of the greatest evil to States and individuals; and also of
the greatest good when the tide carries them in that direction; but
a small man never was the doer of any great thing either to individuals
or to States. 

That is most true, he said. 

And so philosophy is left desolate, with her marriage rite incomplete:
for her own have fallen away and forsaken her, and while they are
leading a false and unbecoming life, other unworthy persons, seeing
that she has no kinsmen to be her protectors, enter in and dishonor
her; and fasten upon her the reproaches which, as you say, her reprovers
utter, who affirm of her votaries that some are good for nothing,
and that the greater number deserve the severest punishment.

That is certainly what people say. 

Yes; and what else would you expect, I said, when you think of the
puny creatures who, seeing this land open to them---a land well stocked
with fair names and showy titles---like prisoners running out of prison
into a sanctuary, take a leap out of their trades into philosophy;
those who do so being probably the cleverest hands at their own miserable
crafts? For, although philosophy be in this evil case, still there
remains a dignity about her which is not to be found in the arts.
And many are thus attracted by her whose natures are imperfect and
whose souls are maimed and disfigured by their meannesses, as their
bodies are by their trades and crafts. Is not this unavoidable?

Yes. 

Are they not exactly like a bald little tinker who has just got out
of durance and come into a fortune; he takes a bath and puts on a
new coat, and is decked out as a bridegroom going to marry his master's
daughter, who is left poor and desolate? 

A most exact parallel. 

What will be the issue of such marriages? Will they not be vile and
bastard? 

There can be no question of it. 

And when persons who are unworthy of education approach philosophy
and make an alliance with her who is in a rank above them, what sort of
ideas and opinions are likely to be generated? Will they not be sophisms
captivating to the ear, having nothing in them genuine, or worthy
of or akin to true wisdom? 

No doubt, he said. 

Then, Adeimantus, I said, the worthy disciples of philosophy will
be but a small remnant: perchance some noble and well-educated person,
detained by exile in her service, who in the absence of corrupting
influences remains devoted to her; or some lofty soul born in a mean
city, the politics of which he contemns and neglects; and there may
be a gifted few who leave the arts, which they justly despise, and
come to her;---or peradventure there are some who are restrained by
our friend Theages' bridle; for everything in the life of Theages
conspired to divert him from philosophy; but ill-health kept him away
from politics. My own case of the internal sign is hardly worth mentioning,
for rarely, if ever, has such a monitor been given to any other man.
Those who belong to this small class have tasted how sweet and blessed
a possession philosophy is, and have also seen enough of the madness
of the multitude; and they know that no politician is honest, nor
is there any champion of justice at whose side they may fight and
be saved. Such an one may be compared to a man who has fallen among
wild beasts---he will not join in the wickedness of his fellows, but
neither is he able singly to resist all their fierce natures, and
therefore seeing that he would be of no use to the State or to his
friends, and reflecting that he would have to throw away his life
without doing any good either to himself or others, he holds his peace,
and goes his own way. He is like one who, in the storm of dust and
sleet which the driving wind hurries along, retires under the shelter
of a wall; and seeing the rest of mankind full of wickedness, he is
content, if only he can live his own life and be pure from evil or
unrighteousness, and depart in peace and good-will, with bright hopes.

Yes, he said, and he will have done a great work before he departs.

A great work---yes; but not the greatest, unless he find a State suitable
to him; for in a State which is suitable to him, he will have a larger
growth and be the savior of his country, as well as of himself.

The causes why philosophy is in such an evil name have now been sufficiently
explained: the injustice of the charges against her has been shown---is
there anything more which you wish to say? 

Nothing more on that subject, he replied; but I should like to know
which of the governments now existing is in your opinion the one adapted
to her. 

Not any of them, I said; and that is precisely the accusation which
I bring against them---not one of them is worthy of the philosophic
nature, and hence that nature is warped and estranged;---as the exotic
seed which is sown in a foreign land becomes denaturalized, and is
wont to be overpowered and to lose itself in the new soil, even so
this growth of philosophy, instead of persisting, degenerates and
receives another character. But if philosophy ever finds in the State
that perfection which she herself is, then will be seen that she is
in truth divine, and that all other things, whether natures of men
or institutions, are but human;---and now, I know that you are going
to ask, What that State is: 

No, he said; there you are wrong, for I was going to ask another question
---whether it is the State of which we are the founders and inventors,
or some other? 

Yes, I replied, ours in most respects; but you may remember my saying
before, that some living authority would always be required in the
State having the same idea of the constitution which guided you when
as legislator you were laying down the laws. 

That was said, he replied. 

Yes, but not in a satisfactory manner; you frightened us by interposing
objections, which certainly showed that the discussion would be long
and difficult; and what still remains is the reverse of easy.

What is there remaining? 

The question how the study of philosophy may be so ordered as not
to be the ruin of the State: All great attempts are attended with
risk; ``hard is the good,'' as men say. 

Still, he said, let the point be cleared up, and the inquiry will
then be complete. 

I shall not be hindered, I said, by any want of will, but, if at all,
by a want of power: my zeal you may see for yourselves; and please
to remark in what I am about to say how boldly and unhesitatingly
I declare that States should pursue philosophy, not as they do now,
but in a different spirit. 

In what manner? 

At present, I said, the students of philosophy are quite young; beginning
when they are hardly past childhood, they devote only the time saved
from moneymaking and housekeeping to such pursuits; and even those
of them who are reputed to have most of the philosophic spirit, when
they come within sight of the great difficulty of the subject, I mean
dialectic, take themselves off. In after life when invited by some
one else, they may, perhaps, go and hear a lecture, and about this
they make much ado, for philosophy is not considered by them to be
their proper business: at last, when they grow old, in most cases
they are extinguished more truly than Heracleitus' sun, inasmuch as
they never light up again. 

But what ought to be their course? 

Just the opposite. In childhood and youth their study, and what philosophy
they learn, should be suited to their tender years: during this period
while they are growing up towards manhood, the chief and special care
should be given to their bodies that they may have them to use in
the service of philosophy; as life advances and the intellect begins
to mature, let them increase the gymnastics of the soul; but when
the strength of our citizens fails and is past civil and military
duties, then let them range at will and engage in no serious labor,
as we intend them to live happily here, and to crown this life with
a similar happiness in another. 

How truly in earnest you are, Socrates! he said; I am sure of that;
and yet most of your hearers, if I am not mistaken, are likely to
be still more earnest in their opposition to you, and will never be
convinced; Thrasymachus least of all. 

Do not make a quarrel, I said, between Thrasymachus and me, who have
recently become friends, although, indeed, we were never enemies;
for I shall go on striving to the utmost until I either convert him
and other men, or do something which may profit them against the day
when they live again, and hold the like discourse in another state
of existence. 

You are speaking of a time which is not very near. 

Rather, I replied, of a time which is as nothing in comparison with
eternity. Nevertheless, I do not wonder that the many refuse to believe;
for they have never seen that of which we are now speaking realized;
they have seen only a conventional imitation of philosophy, consisting
of words artificially brought together, not like these of ours having
a natural unity. But a human being who in word and work is perfectly
moulded, as far as can be, into the proportion and likeness of
virtue---such a man ruling in a city which bears the same image, they
have never yet seen, neither one nor many of them---do you think that
they ever did? 

No indeed. 

No, my friend, and they have seldom, if ever, heard free and noble
sentiments; such as men utter when they are earnestly and by every
means in their power seeking after truth for the sake of knowledge,
while they look coldly on the subtleties of controversy, of which
the end is opinion and strife, whether they meet with them in the
courts of law or in society. 

They are strangers, he said, to the words of which you speak.

And this was what we foresaw, and this was the reason why truth forced
us to admit, not without fear and hesitation, that neither cities
nor States nor individuals will ever attain perfection until the small
class of philosophers whom we termed useless but not corrupt are providentially
compelled, whether they will or not, to take care of the State, and
until a like necessity be laid on the State to obey them; or until
kings, or if not kings, the sons of kings or princes, are divinely
inspired with a true love of true philosophy. That either or both
of these alternatives are impossible, I see no reason to affirm: if
they were so, we might indeed be justly ridiculed as dreamers and
visionaries. Am I not right? 

Quite right. 

If then, in the countless ages of the past, or at the present hour
in some foreign clime which is far away and beyond our ken, the perfected
philosopher is or has been or hereafter shall be compelled by a superior
power to have the charge of the State, we are ready to assert to the
death, that this our constitution has been, and is---yea, and will
be whenever the Muse of Philosophy is queen. There is no impossibility
in all this; that there is a difficulty, we acknowledge ourselves.

My opinion agrees with yours, he said. 

But do you mean to say that this is not the opinion of the multitude?

I should imagine not, he replied. 

O my friend, I said, do not attack the multitude: they will change
their minds, if, not in an aggressive spirit, but gently and with
the view of soothing them and removing their dislike of over-education,
you show them your philosophers as they really are and describe as
you were just now doing their character and profession, and then mankind
will see that he of whom you are speaking is not such as they supposed
---if they view him in this new light, they will surely change their
notion of him, and answer in another strain. Who can be at enmity
with one who loves them, who that is himself gentle and free from
envy will be jealous of one in whom there is no jealousy? Nay, let
me answer for you, that in a few this harsh temper may be found but
not in the majority of mankind. 

I quite agree with you, he said. 

And do you not also think, as I do, that the harsh feeling which the
many entertain towards philosophy originates in the pretenders, who
rush in uninvited, and are always abusing them, and finding fault
with them, who make persons instead of things the theme of their conversation?
and nothing can be more unbecoming in philosophers than this.

It is most unbecoming. 

For he, Adeimantus, whose mind is fixed upon true being, has surely
no time to look down upon the affairs of earth, or to be filled with
malice and envy, contending against men; his eye is ever directed
towards things fixed and immutable, which he sees neither injuring
nor injured by one another, but all in order moving according to reason;
these he imitates, and to these he will, as far as he can, conform
himself. Can a man help imitating that with which he holds reverential
converse? 

Impossible. 

And the philosopher holding converse with the divine order, becomes
orderly and divine, as far as the nature of man allows; but like every
one else, he will suffer from detraction. 

Of course. 

And if a necessity be laid upon him of fashioning, not only himself,
but human nature generally, whether in States or individuals, into
that which he beholds elsewhere, will he, think you, be an unskilful
artificer of justice, temperance, and every civil virtue?

Anything but unskilful. 

And if the world perceives that what we are saying about him is the
truth, will they be angry with philosophy? Will they disbelieve us,
when we tell them that no State can be happy which is not designed
by artists who imitate the heavenly pattern? 

They will not be angry if they understand, he said. But how will they
draw out the plan of which you are speaking? 

They will begin by taking the State and the manners of men, from which,
as from a tablet, they will rub out the picture, and leave a clean
surface. This is no easy task. But whether easy or not, herein will
lie the difference between them and every other legislator,---they
will have nothing to do either with individual or State, and will
inscribe no laws, until they have either found, or themselves made,
a clean surface. 

They will be very right, he said. 

Having effected this, they will proceed to trace an outline of the
constitution? 

No doubt. 

And when they are filling in the work, as I conceive, they will often
turn their eyes upwards and downwards: I mean that they will first
look at absolute justice and beauty and temperance, and again at the
human copy; and will mingle and temper the various elements of life
into the image of a man; and this they will conceive according to
that other image, which, when existing among men, Homer calls the
form and likeness of God. 

Very true, he said. 

And one feature they will erase, and another they will put in, until they
have made the ways of men, as far as possible, agreeable to the ways
of God? 

Indeed, he said, in no way could they make a fairer picture.

And now, I said, are we beginning to persuade those whom you described
as rushing at us with might and main, that the painter of constitutions
is such an one as we are praising; at whom they were so very indignant
because to his hands we committed the State; and are they growing
a little calmer at what they have just heard? 

Much calmer, if there is any sense in them. 

Why, where can they still find any ground for objection? Will they
doubt that the philosopher is a lover of truth and being?

They would not be so unreasonable. 

Or that his nature, being such as we have delineated, is akin to the
highest good? 

Neither can they doubt this. 

But again, will they tell us that such a nature, placed under favorable
circumstances, will not be perfectly good and wise if any ever was?
Or will they prefer those whom we have rejected? 

Surely not. 

Then will they still be angry at our saying, that, until philosophers
bear rule, States and individuals will have no rest from evil, nor
will this our imaginary State ever be realized? 

I think that they will be less angry. 

Shall we assume that they are not only less angry but quite gentle,
and that they have been converted and for very shame, if for no other
reason, cannot refuse to come to terms? 

By all means, he said. 

Then let us suppose that the reconciliation has been effected. Will
any one deny the other point, that there may be sons of kings or princes
who are by nature philosophers? 

Surely no man, he said. 

And when they have come into being will any one say that they must
of necessity be destroyed; that they can hardly be saved is not denied
even by us; but that in the whole course of ages no single one of
them can escape---who will venture to affirm this? 

Who indeed!
 
But, said I, one is enough; let there be one man who has a city obedient
to his will, and he might bring into existence the ideal polity about
which the world is so incredulous. 

Yes, one is enough. 

The ruler may impose the laws and institutions which we have been
describing, and the citizens may possibly be willing to obey them?

Certainly. 

And that others should approve, of what we approve, is no miracle or
impossibility? 

I think not. 

But we have sufficiently shown, in what has preceded, that all this,
if only possible, is assuredly for the best. 

We have. 

And now we say not only that our laws, if they could be enacted, would
be for the best, but also that the enactment of them, though difficult,
is not impossible. 

Very good. 

And so with pain and toil we have reached the end of one subject,
but more remains to be discussed;---how and by what studies and pursuits
will the saviors of the constitution be created, and at what ages
are they to apply themselves to their several studies? 

Certainly. 

I omitted the troublesome business of the possession of women, and
the procreation of children, and the appointment of the rulers, because
I knew that the perfect State would be eyed with jealousy and was
difficult of attainment; but that piece of cleverness was not of much
service to me, for I had to discuss them all the same. The women and
children are now disposed of, but the other question of the rulers
must be investigated from the very beginning. We were saying, as you
will remember, that they were to be lovers of their country, tried
by the test of pleasures and pains, and neither in hardships, nor
in dangers, nor at any other critical moment were to lose their patriotism
---he was to be rejected who failed, but he who always came forth pure,
like gold tried in the refiner's fire, was to be made a ruler, and
to receive honors and rewards in life and after death. This was the
sort of thing which was being said, and then the argument turned aside
and veiled her face; not liking to stir the question which has now
arisen. 

I perfectly remember, he said. 

Yes, my friend, I said, and I then shrank from hazarding the bold
word; but now let me dare to say--that the perfect guardian must
be a philosopher. 

Yes, he said, let that be affirmed. 

And do not suppose that there will be many of them; for the gifts
which were deemed by us to be essential rarely grow together; they
are mostly found in shreds and patches. 

What do you mean? he said. 

You are aware, I replied, that quick intelligence, memory, sagacity,
cleverness, and similar qualities, do not often grow together, and
that persons who possess them and are at the same time high-spirited
and magnanimous are not so constituted by nature as to live orderly
and in a peaceful and settled manner; they are driven any way by their
impulses, and all solid principle goes out of them. 

Very true, he said. 

On the other hand, those steadfast natures which can better be depended
upon, which in a battle are impregnable to fear and immovable, are
equally immovable when there is anything to be learned; they are always
in a torpid state, and are apt to yawn and go to sleep over any intellectual
toil. 

Quite true.
 
And yet we were saying that both qualities were necessary in those
to whom the higher education is to be imparted, and who are to share
in any office or command. 

Certainly, he said. 

And will they be a class which is rarely found? 

Yes, indeed. 

Then the aspirant must not only be tested in those labors and dangers
and pleasures which we mentioned before, but there is another kind
of probation which we did not mention---he must be exercised also
in many kinds of knowledge, to see whether the soul will be able to
endure the highest of all, or will faint under them, as in any other
studies and exercises. 

Yes, he said, you are quite right in testing him. But what do you
mean by the highest of all knowledge? 

You may remember, I said, that we divided the soul into three parts;
and distinguished the several natures of justice, temperance, courage,
and wisdom? 

Indeed, he said, if I had forgotten, I should not deserve to hear
more. 

And do you remember the word of caution which preceded the discussion
of them? 

To what do you refer? 

We were saying, if I am not mistaken, that he who wanted to see them
in their perfect beauty must take a longer and more circuitous way,
at the end of which they would appear; but that we could add on a
popular exposition of them on a level with the discussion which had
preceded. And you replied that such an exposition would be enough
for you, and so the inquiry was continued in what to me seemed to
be a very inaccurate manner; whether you were satisfied or not, it
is for you to say. 

Yes, he said, I thought and the others thought that you gave us a
fair measure of truth. 

But, my friend, I said, a measure of such things which in any degree
falls short of the whole truth is not fair measure; for nothing imperfect
is the measure of anything, although persons are too apt to be contented
and think that they need search no further. 

Not an uncommon case when people are indolent. 

Yes, I said; and there can not be any worse fault in a guardian of
the State and of the laws. 

True. 

The guardian then, I said, must be required to take the longer circuit,
and toil at learning as well as at gymnastics, or he will never reach
the highest knowledge of all which, as we were just now saying, is
his proper calling. 

What, he said, is there a knowledge still higher than this---higher
than justice and the other virtues? 

Yes, I said, there is. And of the virtues too we must behold not the
outline merely, as at present---nothing short of the most finished
picture should satisfy us. When little things are elaborated with
an infinity of pains, in order that they may appear in their full
beauty and utmost clearness, how ridiculous that we should not think
the highest truths worthy of attaining the highest accuracy!

A right noble thought; but do you suppose that we shall refrain from
asking you what is this highest knowledge? 

Nay, I said, ask if you will; but I am certain that you have heard
the answer many times, and now you either do not understand me or,
as I rather think, you are disposed to be troublesome; for you have
often been told that the idea of good is the highest knowledge, and that
all other things become useful and advantageous only by their use
of this. You can hardly be ignorant that of this I was about to speak,
concerning which, as you have often heard me say, we know so little;
and, without which, any other knowledge or possession of any kind
will profit us nothing. Do you think that the possession of all other
things is of any value if we do not possess the good? or the knowledge
of all other things if we have no knowledge of beauty and goodness?

Assuredly not. 

You are further aware that most people affirm pleasure to be the good,
but the finer sort of wits say it is knowledge 

Yes. 

And you are aware too that the latter can not explain what they mean
by knowledge, but are obliged after all to say knowledge of the good?

How ridiculous! 

Yes, I said, that they should begin by reproaching us with our ignorance
of the good, and then presume our knowledge of it---for the good they
define to be knowledge of the good, just as if we understood them
when they use the term ``good''---this is of course ridiculous.

Most true, he said. 

And those who make pleasure their good are in equal perplexity; for
they are compelled to admit that there are bad pleasures as well as
good. 

Certainly. 

And therefore to acknowledge that bad and good are the same?

True. 

There can be no doubt about the numerous difficulties in which this
question is involved. 

There can be none. 

Further, do we not see that many are willing to do or to have or to
seem to be what is just and honorable without the reality; but no
one is satisfied with the appearance of good---the reality is what
they seek; in the case of the good, appearance is despised by every
one. 

Very true, he said. 

Of this then, which every soul of man pursues and makes the end of
all his actions, having a presentiment that there is such an end,
and yet hesitating because neither knowing the nature nor having the
same assurance of this as of other things, and therefore losing whatever
good there is in other things,---of a principle such and so great
as this ought the best men in our State, to whom everything is entrusted,
to be in the darkness of ignorance? 

Certainly not, he said. 

I am sure, I said, that he who does not know how the beautiful and
the just are likewise good will be but a sorry guardian of them; and
I suspect that no one who is ignorant of the good will have a true
knowledge of them. 

That, he said, is a shrewd suspicion of yours. 

And if we only have a guardian who has this knowledge our State will
be perfectly ordered? 

Of course, he replied; but I wish that you would tell me whether you
conceive this supreme principle of the good to be knowledge or pleasure,
or different from either?

Aye, I said, I knew all along that a fastidious gentleman like you
would not be contented with the thoughts of other people about these
matters. 

True, Socrates; but I must say that one who like you has passed a
lifetime in the study of philosophy should not be always repeating
the opinions of others, and never telling his own. 

Well, but has any one a right to say positively what he does not know?

Not, he said, with the assurance of positive certainty; he has no
right to do that: but he may say what he thinks, as a matter of opinion.

And do you not know, I said, that all mere opinions are bad, and the
best of them blind? You would not deny that those who have any true
notion without intelligence are only like blind men who feel their
way along the road? 

Very true. 

And do you wish to behold what is blind and crooked and base, when
others will tell you of brightness and beauty? 

%Glaucon - SOCRATES 

Still, I must implore you, Socrates, said Glaucon, not to turn away
just as you are reaching the goal; if you will only give such an explanation
of the good as you have already given of justice and temperance and
the other virtues, we shall be satisfied. 

Yes, my friend, and I shall be at least equally satisfied, but I can not
help fearing that I shall fail, and that my indiscreet zeal will bring
ridicule upon me. No, sweet sirs, let us not at present ask what is
the actual nature of the good, for to reach what is now in my thoughts
would be an effort too great for me. But of the child of the good
who is likest him, I would fain speak, if I could be sure that you
wished to hear---otherwise, not. 

By all means, he said, tell us about the child, and you shall remain
in our debt for the account of the parent. 

I do indeed wish, I replied, that I could pay, and you receive, the
account of the parent, and not, as now, of the offspring only; take,
however, this latter by way of interest, and at the same time have
a care that I do not render a false account, although I have no intention
of deceiving you. 

Yes, we will take all the care that we can: proceed. 

Yes, I said, but I must first come to an understanding with you, and
remind you of what I have mentioned in the course of this discussion,
and at many other times. 

What? 

The old story, that there is a many beautiful and a many good, and
so of other things which we describe and define; to all of them the
term ``many'' is applied. 

True, he said. 

And there is an absolute beauty and an absolute good, and of other
things to which the term ``many'' is applied there is an absolute; for
they may be brought under a single idea, which is called the essence
of each. 

Very true. 

The many, as we say, are seen but not known, and the ideas are known
but not seen. 

Exactly. 

And what is the organ with which we see the visible things?

The sight, he said. 

And with the hearing, I said, we hear, and with the other senses perceive
the other objects of sense? 

True. 

But have you remarked that sight is by far the most costly and complex
piece of workmanship which the artificer of the senses ever contrived?

No, I never have, he said. 

Then reflect: has the ear or voice need of any third or additional
nature in order that the one may be able to hear and the other to
be heard? 

Nothing of the sort. 

No, indeed, I replied; and the same is true of most, if not all, the
other senses---you would not say that any of them requires such an
addition? 

Certainly not. 

But you see that without the addition of some other nature there is
no seeing or being seen? 

How do you mean? 

Sight being, as I conceive, in the eyes, and he who has eyes wanting
to see; color being also present in them, still unless there be a
third nature specially adapted to the purpose, the owner of the eyes
will see nothing and the colors will be invisible. 

Of what nature are you speaking? 

Of that which you term light, I replied. 

True, he said. 

Noble, then, is the bond which links together sight and visibility,
and great beyond other bonds by no small difference of nature; for
light is their bond, and light is no ignoble thing? 

Nay, he said, the reverse of ignoble. 

And which, I said, of the gods in heaven would you say was the lord
of this element? Whose is that light which makes the eye to see perfectly
and the visible to appear? 

You mean the sun, as you and all mankind say.
 
May not the relation of sight to this deity be described as follows:

How? 

Neither sight nor the eye in which sight resides is the sun?

No. 

Yet of all the organs of sense the eye is the most like the sun?

By far the most like. 

And the power which the eye possesses is a sort of effluence which
is dispensed from the sun? 

Exactly. 

Then the sun is not sight, but the author of sight who is recognized
by sight?

True, he said. 

And this is he whom I call the child of the good, whom the good begat
in his own likeness, to be in the visible world, in relation to sight
and the things of sight, what the good is in the intellectual world
in relation to mind and the things of mind:

Will you be a little more explicit? he said. 

Why, you know, I said, that the eyes, when a person directs them towards
objects on which the light of day is no longer shining, but the moon
and stars only, see dimly, and are nearly blind; they seem to have
no clearness of vision in them? 

Very true. 

But when they are directed towards objects on which the sun shines,
they see clearly and there is sight in them? 

Certainly. 

And the soul is like the eye: when resting upon that on which truth
and being shine, the soul perceives and understands and is radiant
with intelligence; but when turned towards the twilight of becoming
and perishing, then she has opinion only, and goes blinking about,
and is first of one opinion and then of another, and seems to have
no intelligence? 

Just so. 

Now, that which imparts truth to the known and the power of knowing
to the knower is what I would have you term the idea of good, and
this you will deem to be the cause of science, and of truth in so
far as the latter becomes the subject of knowledge; beautiful too,
as are both truth and knowledge, you will be right in esteeming this
other nature as more beautiful than either; and, as in the previous
instance, light and sight may be truly said to be like the sun, and
yet not to be the sun, so in this other sphere, science and truth
may be deemed to be like the good, but not the good; the good has
a place of honor yet higher. 

What a wonder of beauty that must be, he said, which is the author
of science and truth, and yet surpasses them in beauty; for you surely
can not mean to say that pleasure is the good? 

God forbid, I replied; but may I ask you to consider the image in
another point of view? 

In what point of view? 

You would say, would you not, that the sun is only the author of visibility
in all visible things, but of generation and nourishment and growth,
though he himself is not generation? 

Certainly. 

In like manner the good may be said to be not only the author of knowledge
to all things known, but of their being and essence, and yet the good
is not essence, but far exceeds essence in dignity and power.

Glaucon said, with a ludicrous earnestness: By the light of heaven,
how amazing! 

Yes, I said, and the exaggeration may be set down to you; for you
made me utter my fancies. 

And pray continue to utter them; at any rate let us hear if there
is anything more to be said about the similitude of the sun.

Yes, I said, there is a great deal more. 

Then omit nothing, however slight. 

I will do my best, I said; but I should think that a great deal will
have to be omitted. 

I hope not, he said.

You have to imagine, then, that there are two ruling powers, and that
one of them is set over the intellectual world, the other over the
visible. I do not say heaven, lest you should fancy that I am playing
upon the name. May I suppose that you have this distinction of the
visible and intelligible fixed in your mind?

I have. 

Now take a line which has been cut into two unequal parts, and divide
each of them again in the same proportion, and suppose the two main
divisions to answer, one to the visible and the other to the intelligible,
and then compare the subdivisions in respect of their clearness and
want of clearness, and you will find that the first section in the
sphere of the visible consists of images. And by images I mean, in
the first place, shadows, and in the second place, reflections in
water and in solid, smooth and polished bodies and the like: Do you
understand? 

Yes, I understand. 

Imagine, now, the other section, of which this is only the resemblance,
to include the animals which we see, and everything that grows or
is made. 

Very good. 

Would you not admit that both the sections of this division have different
degrees of truth, and that the copy is to the original as the sphere
of opinion is to the sphere of knowledge? 

Most undoubtedly. 

Next proceed to consider the manner in which the sphere of the intellectual
is to be divided. 

In what manner? 

Thus:---There are two subdivisions, in the lower or which the soul
uses the figures given by the former division as images; the inquiry
can only be hypothetical, and instead of going upwards to a principle
descends to the other end; in the higher of the two, the soul passes
out of hypotheses, and goes up to a principle which is above hypotheses,
making no use of images as in the former case, but proceeding only
in and through the ideas themselves. 

I do not quite understand your meaning, he said. 

Then I will try again; you will understand me better when I have made
some preliminary remarks. You are aware that students of geometry,
arithmetic, and the kindred sciences assume the odd and the even and
the figures and three kinds of angles and the like in their several
branches of science; these are their hypotheses, which they and everybody
are supposed to know, and therefore they do not deign to give any
account of them either to themselves or others; but they begin with
them, and go on until they arrive at last, and in a consistent manner,
at their conclusion? 

Yes, he said, I know. 

And do you not know also that although they make use of the visible
forms and reason about them, they are thinking not of these, but of
the ideals which they resemble; not of the figures which they draw,
but of the absolute square and the absolute diameter, and so on---the
forms which they draw or make, and which have shadows and reflections
in water of their own, are converted by them into images, but they
are really seeking to behold the things themselves, which can only
be seen with the eye of the mind? 

That is true. 

And of this I spoke as the intelligible, although in the search
after it the soul is compelled to use hypotheses; not ascending to
a first principle, because she is unable to rise above the region
of hypothesis, but employing the objects of which the shadows below
are resemblances in their turn as images, they having in relation
to the shadows and reflections of them a greater distinctness, and
therefore a higher value. 

I understand, he said, that you are speaking of the province of geometry
and the sister arts. 

And when I speak of the other division of the intelligible, you will
understand me to speak of that other sort of knowledge which reason
herself attains by the power of dialectic, using the hypotheses not
as first principles, but only as hypotheses---that is to say, as steps
and points of departure into a world which is above hypotheses, in
order that she may soar beyond them to the first principle of the
whole; and clinging to this and then to that which depends on this,
by successive steps she descends again without the aid of any sensible
object, from ideas, through ideas, and in ideas she ends.

I understand you, he replied; not perfectly, for you seem to me to
be describing a task which is really tremendous; but, at any rate,
I understand you to say that knowledge and being, which the science
of dialectic contemplates, are clearer than the notions of the arts,
as they are termed, which proceed from hypotheses only: these are
also contemplated by the understanding, and not by the senses: yet,
because they start from hypotheses and do not ascend to a principle,
those who contemplate them appear to you not to exercise the higher
reason upon them, although when a first principle is added to them
they are cognizable by the higher reason. And the habit which is concerned
with geometry and the cognate sciences I suppose that you would term
understanding and not reason, as being intermediate between opinion
and reason. 

You have quite conceived my meaning, I said; and now, corresponding
to these four divisions, let there be four faculties in the soul---reason
answering to the highest, understanding to the second, faith (or conviction)
to the third, and perception of shadows to the last---and let there
be a scale of them, and let us suppose that the several faculties
have clearness in the same degree that their objects have truth.

I understand, he replied, and give my assent, and accept your arrangement.

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